


Susie

by HostisHumaniGeneris



Category: Original Work
Genre: Bath Sex, F/M, Ghost Sex, Haunting, Non-Linear Narrative, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Voyeurism, Woman on Top
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2020-01-15 18:45:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18504874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HostisHumaniGeneris/pseuds/HostisHumaniGeneris
Summary: He got the house on a deal.  They said it was haunted--whatever he wasn't superstitious.  However, as he settles in, things begin to challenge his assurance that there was no such thing as a ghost, until he's confronted by the fact he's sharing his home with someone dead.  And bored and lonely.  So verylonely.All-in-all, things could be worse.





	Susie

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tree](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tree/gifts).



He shifted the car into park and sighed, sitting a while before opening the door and pulling himself out.  Moving in slow motion, he leaned back inside the car to retrieve his briefcase, pulling it off the passenger seat.  Shutting the door, he headed up the steps.

The door was unlocked—he figured she saw him pull up and undid it while he was loafing around.  He shoved his way through the door, kicking his shoes off at the floormat, then continued to the kitchen, setting the briefcase on one of the chairs at the kitchen table that never got used or pushed in.   The Scrabble set was laying open, as usual.  The one tile rack had a bunch of mismatched letters from this board and the old one.

W E L C O M E H O M E

“Evening!” He called out, sure Susie heard him.  Usually she was pretty quiet when he got home, she had to be trying to cheer him.  He cleared the board, stacking the letters with their fellows—the letters from a bunch of scrabble boards he’d picked up.  The current board was something he splurged on—it was some fancy collector’s set made out of actual wood instead of cardboard, but he kept the letters from the old sets.

As he microwaved some of last night’s General Tso’s, he heard the pipes rattle and the bath begin to gush water down the hall.  He walked down the hall, feeling that familiar chill run up his spine as he stood at the open door, looking at the mirror—not fogged up, and then to the tub and he rolled his eyes.  “Let me eat, and the tub should be full when I get back.”

* * *

_He looked over the living room.  The place was on the smallish side, but it wasn’t like he needed much for himself.  Pretty well-maintained, he wouldn’t have to put a lot of work into it.    Nice location, too—low crime, close to all amenities and thruway access, but not too close._

_So why was it so cheap._

_“Picture it,” The realtor said, gesturing towards the corner.  “Television goes there, plenty of room for a couch and a few chairs.”_

_He nodded.  “Yeah.”_

_“Appliances have been updated, new roof and windows within the last five years.”  He surreptitiously looked at her while pretending to be visualizing his dream living room.  She looked **uneasy** for some reason.  “You could rip up the carpeting and…”_

_“I like the carpeting.”_

_“Oh.  Well, that’s good.”_

_“Is there anything else about the place you want to tell me?” He asked._

_“Um… just we’re legally obligated to inform you that this house has a reputation…” She was sweating bullets now for some reason._

_“What kind of reputation?”  If it was something like that, he didn’t really care.  Satanists could have used this place as a whorehouse that only accepted payment in drugs and endangered species, and that wouldn’t matter to him.  House was **cheap** , and if that was because of a ‘reputation’…_

_“It’s said to be… haunted.” The pause was evident.  The realtor forced a grin and said. “Silly, I know.  Haunted, right?”_

_“I dunno…” He said.  “Ghosts…”_

_He stage-flinched, and it looked like he broke the realtor’s heart.  She very quickly engaged in delaying tactics, assuring him that it only had a **reputation** for being haunted.  After all, he didn’t look like he was the kind of guy who believed in ghosts._

_He shrugged.  He **wasn’t** the kind of guy who believed in ghosts, but she didn’t know that.  If she wanted to knock some dollars off of the price in order to sell the place, then, he’d let her make her assumptions._

_She excused herself to talk it over with the homeowner, leaving him to visualize the living room.  Yeah, T.V. in the corner, couch.  Hm… did he want a recliner over there._

_Something **cold** ran up his spine as he stepped into the hallway, looking down.  Master bedroom would have a bed.  Spare could be used for storage, and maybe he could get a treadmill?  He had been meaning to get some exercise—there was a park nearby, but a few months, and it’d be buried in snow._

_He shivered again… fucking chilly for Autumn.  New roof, but he’d have to find the source of the draft.  Something creaked between the walls, ductwork or something._

_“The owner says they have someone lined right up.”  The realtor said, startling him.   “There’s not much I can do.”_

_So that was it than.  He brought up his **deathly fear** of ghosts, and she was bringing up someone **desperate to move in**.  He could fight it out, but this house **was** priced to sell.  Cheapest he’d seen in a long time, and he wanted to be moved in to a new place as soon as possible—he’d moved his brother last February, and that had **suuuucked**._

_In the end, they came to a handshake deal, little more knocked off the price, and he’d get the place.  The realtor left to make another call.  Hm… kitchen-dining room wasn’t that big, but it wasn’t like he was going to have a lot of people over._

_He whipped around when he felt a tap on his shoulder, ready for another round with the realtor._

_She was fifteen feet away, wrapped up in the conversation._

* * *

He ate from a paper plate with a fork, narrating between bites.

“It’s fried chicken, just with… sauce on it.  I dunno what’s in it, sauce.  It’s sweet, kinda spicy too….”  Chinese was always an old standby, though he’d taken to experimenting a little lately, making stuff or hitting up restaurants he otherwise wouldn’t have.  Something new for the two of them.  He kept his eye on the tile rack, occasionally shifting back to the plate.  A blink, and the rack had letters again.

Y O U A R E T I R E D

“Yeah, long day.”  He said, putting down the fork.  He narrated the day’s annoyances to her as stretched a little.  It was good to vent to someone.  “By the way, what’s with the bath?”

A second tile rack slide next to the first one.  Indicating she thought she might get a little long winded.  This was the best he’d figured out—wood and other plant material, she had no problem moving, but plastics presented trouble for her.  So no pens or keyboards.  She could make the lights flicker and TV glitch up, but couldn’t do it with enough control to convey a message other than “ERROR”.  And she kept snapping pencils. 

B A T H S A R E R E L A X I N G

He nodded, having never actually _taken_ a bath since he was old enough to stand in a shower.  Still, she knew he was stressed out about the project, and how Greg was either trying to fuck up or was just _that_ useless.  “Thank you.”

His tie began sliding around his neck—hadn’t been paying attention but it must’ve been cotton, she had trouble with synthetic fabrics.  Invisible hands loosened the knot, sliding it off its neck when it came undone.  He shrugged his jacket off onto the chair.  He looked at the tile racks.

S U P P E R D O N E B A T H  F U L L

She _really_ wanted him to take a bath for some reason.  She always did try to make him do things like that, live vicariously through him, sort of.  Because she wasn’t alive, hadn’t been for decades.  She found baths relaxing, so wanted to see him relax. 

Although, to be honest, she could have an entirely ulterior motive with trying to help him relax.  Grinning, he said with a smile.  “I think you may be trying to take advantage of me”

The tiles on the board fell forward, except for the ‘U’, which flipped over.  Frown.  He raised it off and smiled.  “Of course, I can’t complain.  Like I said, I need to unwind.”

* * *

_LIFE IN PRISON FOR LOCAL SLAYERS_

_He looked at the headline in the sepia microfilm.  It was almost fifty years ago.  Burglary gone wrong—the defendants had claimed that the victim was not supposed to be there.  ‘There’ being his house._

_Fifty years ago, it belonged to Susan Washington, who along with her siblings had started a moderately-successful local restaurant—the locals still referred to the fast casual chain as ‘Where Washingtons’ used to be’ wistfully, as if Washingtons hadn’t relocated to a larger, more upscale place two decades ago._

_It was a pretty cut and dry case—idiots in need and/or want of fast cash panic when their genius plan of jimmying open the lock and ransacking the palatial two-bedroom house of a moderately-successful local restauranteur failed when the homeowner came to investigate._

_They panicked, she died, and the police were on the scene very quick._

_She was the only person to die in his house, as far as he could tell.  Only one previous owner, who sold it to her.  Ever since, it had passed from person to person, always updating, but nobody ever stayed very long.  A year seemed the upper limit._

_He’d lasted ten months before he started looking into the place.  He couldn’t believe he was actually entertaining this notion._

_He never did find the source of the draft, which did not let up, even in summer.  Best he could figure there was no draft, **or** every single room in his house was drafty.  No middle ground._

_He assumed the little electrical glitches were just crappy wiring, his crappy laptop, or his television, which was kinda crappy.  Although he began to notice a pattern—true crime, or any crime T.V. seemed to trigger glitches._

_The feeling of being watched when he was watching T.V. shouldn’t have bugged him.  Streaming service algorithms, cable company DVR storage—he was being watched.  Then it was being watched when he cooked.  He woke with a feeling of being watched a few times._

_Then he had that feeling run down his spine in the shower.  Private time with the internet._

_Yeah, that drove him to do some digging.  Okay, his search was pretty half-assed, and he only began to beat the pavement and visit the library and town hall records room after google didn’t avail him.  But it wasn’t like he had better things to do on a weekend._

_A few nights he’d sleep at his brother’s.  Once, after waking up feeling something against him, he slept in his car… for about two hours before it was incredibly uncomfortable and he reminded himself that ghosts were bullshit and he came in and the night was quiet._

_A little distance for a night made things stop happening for a little._

_Until they started up again._

_So here he was, sitting at a dusty corner of the library, pouring over old newspapers on microfilm.  Did a little digging.  LOCAL BUSINESSWOMAN MURDERED—FAMILY REACTS.  The picture below was a group photo, with Susan standing between her older siblings smiling._

_She looked perfectly normal._

* * *

He left a trail of clothing from the kitchen down the hall.  Shirt, undershirt, belt, pants, one sock, boxers.  He stopped at the doorway to the bathroom, looking down the hall where he came from as he balanced on run foot, removing the sock from the other.

Something brushed against him lightly.  Given _where_ she brushed against him, she definitely was interested in more than his relaxation tonight.  When nothing further happened, he followed her in, bending over and slowly sticking his hand into the water—it wasn’t that he didn’t trust her to not scald his balls off, _buuut_ , she wasn’t exactly corporeal.  Finding the water warm, he stepped into the tub, sinking down into the warm water. 

“This is relaxing.” He said, sitting upright in the water.  It mainly was a little awkward, sitting on the porcelain tub.  A hand, delicate but _strong_ , put pressure on his chest, forcing him to lean back and rest on the back of the tub.  He stretched out as best he could, and the pressure lessened.  He began to loosen up a little, relax his muscles.

Across the surface of the water, he could see a trail traced by invisible fingers.  His eyes tracked the movement, as it did swift figure-eights across the surface.  All of a sudden the motion stopped.  “Susie?”

That’s when she splashed him in the face.

He could feel fingers in his hair, water streaming down. 

Fingers trailed down from his scalp; one hand stopped at his cheek, and the thumb ran along the corner of his mouth, while the other went further south, down the side of his neck, over his chest and belly.  She gently grasped and fondled him, very slowly shifting from his balls to his cock.  He groaned as those fingers slowly curled him.

She began to work him over.  He felt the thumb running over his tip for a moment before she began pumping him.   

This was relaxing.

Then it stopped.  Soundlessly she let him go, and temperature seemed to spike.  He took in a deep breath and sighed.  He didn’t even need his eyes open to know when the door creaked open and slammed shut where she was. 

He drained the tub and got up groping for a towel.  A quick, half-assed drying later, and he left the bathroom, heading straight for his bedroom.

* * *

_He wandered into the kitchen, shakily pulling down a glass.  He was going insane.  Because there was no such thing as ghosts.  But there was no way he could rationalize everything._

_The patterns he’d seen were becoming more and more confirmed with every new occurrence.  He guessed she liked classic rock, made sense he guessed, and hated the station specializing in Sinatra-style crooning.  Because the rock station came in clear.  News and the sports station too.  TV worked the same as it had since he moved in._

_The fact he was sussing out her tastes was ridiculous, because she wasn’t real._

_He sat at the table, looking at the scrabble board—his brother had been over a while ago, game night.  Usually they did it at his place.  Hell, it had been months since they were over and he still hadn’t cleared the board.  He was a lazy, crazy bastard._

_Well, no time like the pleasant_

_He swept the letters into a pile, and folded up the cheap cardboard grid.  When he replaced it in the box, he gripped the table, hard._

_It was just a coincidence._

_Because there was no other way that every letter was facedown except for H E L L O._

_“Sue?”_

_Blink._

_S U S I E_

_He looked at the front door._

_D O N T P A N I C_

_“I…”_

_This time, he had to be hallucinating, because the letters rearranged themselves before his eyes.  D O N T stayed, but P A N I C flipped over in favor of a G and O._

_He sucked in a deep breath.  “What do you want?”_

_T A L K_

_“About?”_

_A N Y T H I N G_

_“Why?”  It seemed like he was only able to communicate as well as just random scrabble letters._

_L O N E L Y_

_He took another deep breath, slammed his eyes shut, downed his glass of water, and paused to think.  Okay, either he was crazy and it didn’t matter he was talking to a scrabble board because in terms of crazy that was harmless; or he was wrong about ghosts being bullshit.  Either way, he could talk with her._

_“Lonely huh?” He nervously laughed.  “I guess it’s been a long time since anyone played scrabble with you?”_

_Y E S_

_The rest of the night passed in a flurry of poorly-thought out segues that gradually grew  a little more natural.  He went from drawing a complete blank on how to play scrabble to discussing his job a little—Susie just kind of rattled the tiles a little, which he took for bored nodding.  There were countless things he **could** ask about the afterlife, about mysteries humanity wondered about for eons._

_Instead he asked her if she preferred the Stones or the Beatles._

_Breaking the ice helped.  The mystery of the Susie Washington was solved—why was she haunting the place?  D O N T K N O W.  She was every bit as confused about the situation.  She was more interested in topics outside of her being dead, he kind of figured, so he focused on that.  So the imperceptible force acting of its own will in his home was just a confused, lonely girl with a taste for music and baseball._

_Did she mind him living here?  N O._

_Did she mind his cooking?  He heard the rattling in his cupboards.  C O U L D B E B E T T E R.  He said he wouldn’t mind learning._

_Did she watch him?  Y E S._

_Including in the… S H O W E R Y E S_

_Why?  K I N D A H O R N Y_

_“What?” He blurted out, watching the letters quickly rearrange to L O N E L Y._

_He’d have to file that bit of information away for later._

* * *

He didn’t sink into the mattress as she rode him—he could see the motion against his cock; the back and forward as she rocked, and _definitely_ could feel it.  Tight, warm, wet against him He felt the pair of delicate hands against his shoulders, and the warmth encompassing him.

There was no resistance to her—he had learned that the hard way once when he thrust against her mouth in the shower and there was _nothing_ and he slipped and almost knocked himself the fuck out.  That had been a mood killer—he’d found a few tiles spelling out “H A H A” when he wandered the house, naked, wet, and bruised, with her not around.

So she picked the pace by default. 

When he got on the bed, it took her a while to begin—she knew he was close in the tub, and she liked drawing things out.  She went slow, and although she sank all the way to his base, she didn’t lift herself up much.  Slow, small little movements that left him gripping the sheets like they were electrified, body tense.  He had to do that, because, bucking up against something that wasn’t there; sitting up to grab a pair of intangible hips or embrace something he couldn’t, that usually ended the night.  Neither one of them liked that.

So he did his best to not react while desperate.

The lights began to flicker in the room, and he could feel nails dig into his shoulders.  He groaned a “You’re amazing, you…” before being cut off by something against him.  Holding his mouth open he felt a skillful tongue run against his, against the roof of his mouth.  This was new.  She’d done a lot of things to him, sucked him, pumped him, fucked him.  He was even pretty certain she let him do anal.

This was the first time she’d kissed him.

It was agonizing not moving.  Not coiling his arms around something they’d pass right through.  Not returning the kiss.  Not driving upwards to pick up the pace.  But it was a wonderful kind of agony.

He finally broke, arched his back and came when her mouth left his and the lights went out.  He panted and groaned as something hot splashed onto his belly in spurts.  He finally let himself relax when he was truly spent, cock limp against his belly.  He laid their for a few seconds before reaching over and grabbing for the box of tissues on the end table.  Wiping himself off, he got up to throw out the tissue and wash himself off a little more thoroughly—not too upset he had to clean up after a bath.

When he returned to the bedroom, one of the pillows was rearranged perpendicular to the other, center of the bed.  He returned it to the head of the bed, only for it to be yanked out of his hands and placed whereit was. 

It took him way too long to figure out what she wanted.  Maybe he’d need a scrabble set just for the bedroom.

He laid on his side, looping his right arm under the pillow.  It was a poor substitute, but it was _something_ tangible to hold when he felt something invisible sidle up to him, on, or maybe through the pillow.  A hand tightened around his right hand, delicate fingers against his. 

“G’night, Susie.”

**Author's Note:**

> Picked this one up as a pinch hit. It was a fun challenge trying to come up with some rules to make this offbeat and strange--hopefully this is to your liking.


End file.
